


Date Night: A History

by offensiveagentpie



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Date Night, First Dates, First Kiss, M/M, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Pining, brief mentions of Foggy/Marci, karen and josie also make appearances, more sappy cliches than you can shake a stick at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offensiveagentpie/pseuds/offensiveagentpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A history of Matt and Foggy's Date Nights.  From the beginning, to Christmas kisses, to finally working things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Date Night: A History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [templemarker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/gifts).



> For the prompt: _I would love to see their date night. Is it a ritual from law school? Is it interrupted by Crime in Progress? Does Foggy insist they stay in so Crime won't interrupt date night? Inquiring minds want to know!_
> 
> Happy Holidays, templemarker! I do hope you enjoy this! It got a bit away from me, and turned out much longer than expected. Thank you for the wonderful prompt!
> 
> (Also, a brief note, whenever you see **-oOo-** the POV switches. This is the first time I've tried this, but I just wanted to make sure it was clear)

The beginnings are humble enough; it’s a Thursday night, the one night of the week that they can truly just sit and not worry about homework too much. They both lucked out, not having any classes on Friday until their shared section of History of Law at 3pm. Matt’s sitting on his bed, listening to a lecture he recorded the previous week in preparation for a quiz on Monday, when Foggy’s laughter cuts through his headphones. Hitting pause on his recorder, Matt focuses. He can hear the whir of a DVD in Foggy’s laptop, and the tinny sound of music and dialogue in the headphones that Foggy is wearing across the room. The movie sounds familiar, but he can’t quite make out what it is.

“What are you watching?” he asks, hoping that Foggy can hear him.

He must, Matt hears a button click and the sound from the movie stops. “What’s that?” Foggy asks.

“What are you watching?” Matt repeats. “Just curious.”

“Oh! ‘The Princess Bride.’ It’s a fav of mine.”

Matt’s eyebrows go up. He’d nearly forgotten it, but he had always enjoyed the movie as a kid. There were even a few times that his father would sit and watch it with him when it was on television. After the accident, however, he hadn’t really done much movie watching. Even if it was a movie he’d seen before, it was never really the same.

He’s not sure why he says what he does, but he grins at Foggy nonetheless. “Good one, I haven’t seen it since before…well,” he shrugs and gives a vague gesture towards his face.

The bedsprings on Foggy’s mattress creak as he shifts awkwardly and takes a hesitant breath, unsure of what to say. Matt curses himself for saying anything. Even as accepting as Foggy is, bringing up things about his accident can still make things a bit awkward.

Which is why he’s surprised when Foggy says, “Do you wanna watch it with me?”

There’s a beat of silence. Matt’s face must show his surprise, because Foggy quickly continues talking. “I mean, if you want, I can kind of give you a play-by-play. Like, a live action descriptive audio track? If you don’t mind me yakking through the whole thing that is…”

Foggy’s heart beat is quick and light. Matt’s is matching it. “Oh…sure, I’d-I’d like that.”

“Great!” Foggy says, obviously relieved. “Come on over!”

Bed springs creak again and Matt immediately regrets saying yes. As much as he’d like hearing Foggy relaying the movie to him, he’d much rather do it not pressed up against his roommate on a small dorm bed. Because…well. Matt has a hard enough time not saying how much he enjoys just holding Foggy’s arm when they walk to class. This is going to be much more prolonged and closer even than that…which he supposes isn’t necessarily _bad_.

He shuts off his recorder and heads over to Foggy’s bed, feeling for the mattress even though he doesn’t need to. Foggy’s hand pats the spot next to him and Matt sits down. He immediately begins taking note of everything: the warmth of Foggy’s body touching him from shoulder to ankle, the smell of his deodorant and the lingering scent of cheddar sour cream chips on his fingers, the rise and fall of his chest that presses their arms closer together with every breath.

Matt wants to stop; wants to pay attention to the sound of the music now pouring freely into the room since Foggy removed his headphones, wants to try and remember the movie that he saw so many years ago… because, when it comes down to it, Foggy has only ever commented on his looks once before immediately writing it off. He’s probably not at all interested in Matt the way Matt has grown to be of him. So there’s no point in paying attention to these sort of things.

Foggy has been kind enough to want to share this with him and Matt should enjoy that; he’s doing this as Matt’s friend and nothing else.

Taking a deep breath, Matt settles in and listens as Foggy gives him an account of the movie playing on the screen. He does a good job too. Matt can almost remember the scenes with the way Foggy describes them.

By the time they get to the scene with Vizzini and the iocane powder-- Foggy describing the Sicilian as: ‘A very whiney guy that vaguely resembles a small dog crossed with a walnut’-- Matt’s laughing so hard that he barely pays attention to the fact that, at some point, he’s leaned against Foggy’s shoulder and Foggy doesn’t seem to have minded at all.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Thursday nights quickly become their ‘thing’. Sure, they spend an absurd amount of time together for being roommates anyway, but Thursdays become their special bonding time.

Foggy loves it.

He’s become fond of ‘Mystery Foggy Theater 3000,’ as he calls it when he sits and describes movies to Matt. He’s become even fonder of how Matt reacts to cuddling (there’s no other word for it and honestly, that is messing Foggy right the hell up) on Foggy’s bed and watching movies. Matt seems to enjoy it.

But he probably doesn’t enjoy it _quite_ the way Foggy does.

And therein lies the problem. The self-doubting voice that lives in Foggy’s head and sounds an awful lot like a real douche he knew in high school is telling him that Matt is watching movies and hanging out with him as a friend…no more, no less. And it’s kind of a scumbag thing to sit there and get more than friendship enjoyment out of it.

He can’t help it though. He can’t stop the warm and wiggling feeling he gets under his ribs as they press close and laugh together. He can’t stop loving the heat and weight of Matt leaning up against him, breath puffing against his hair.

He can’t help enjoying the same sort of closeness right now, as Matt plasters himself to Foggy’s side, nearly leaning off of his bar stool.

This Thursday is a bit special. They’ve both survived a hellacious midterm exam and are celebrating in their favorite off campus dive-bar; a place where they come on the few occasions when they can afford it, or when they really need it. Matt, usually almost supernaturally suave and graceful, is wavering slightly as he clings to Foggy’s shoulder for support.

“I should have never let you talk me into this,” he says, voice full of drunken regret.

Foggy chuckles. “Matt, this date night deserved every shot we’ve taken, don’t you dare tell me otherwise.”

It takes a few moments for his brain to catch up, but Matt’s quizzical puppy face clues him in to his mistake. He glares at the shot glass on the bar, personally blaming it for his slip up. He’d taken to calling Thursdays ‘date night’ in his head about three weeks into their arrangement. But until now it had stayed in his head.

“Date night?”

Foggy’s head whips up to find Josie, the bar owner, looking at him slyly. He’s grateful for the save she provides. “Josie, Josie, Josie! Please, don’t take it seriously. You know you’re the only one for me.”

Josie exhales through her nose, exasperated. “You wish. I thought you two were together,” she smirks towards Matt, for all the good it’ll do. Foggy can’t bear to look at his friend right now. He goes to say something else but Josie calls out, “Hey! Ronnie! Told you they were an item, you owe me twenty bucks!” she heads back towards the kitchen where Ronnie the cook is washing dishes and Foggy groans, laying his head on the sticky countertop.

“I’m not tipping her tonight,” he mumbles, knowing fully well that he will.

To his left, Matt laughs and Foggy finally decides to turn and look at him. Matt looks…well, he looks almost bashful. Foggy’s not sure what to do with that information, Matt luckily saves him from having to say anything.

“On that note, I say we call it a night.” He unfolds his cane and holds his hand out for Foggy’s arm.

“Sounds good, buddy.” Foggy offers his arm and they make their way back to the dorm.

Their banter is a little less present than usual on their walk back. They don’t mention Josie’s comment at all and Foggy foolishly believes he’s in the clear until they reach the safety of their room, the door shutting behind them.

“Well, I’d call that a successful date night,” Matt says, plastering his biggest, nerdiest grin on his face.

Foggy hates him. “I slip up _once_!”

Matt interrupts him by laughing. He fights off his smile and goes for serious…he misses it by a mile. “You’re right, of course it’s not date night; I’d never go on a date with someone that I had no clue of what they looked like.”

A beat of silence passes before they both erupt into helpless laughter.

Before they fall to the floor, Foggy manoeuvers them to his bed, sitting them down unceremoniously while their giggles are still in full swing, it’s a good thing too. The laughter’s making him feel extra tipsy with the booze in his system.

When the laughs die down, Matt turns to face him, dorky smile still in place. “Seriously though, beyond ‘blonde’ and if I’m remembering correctly ‘sex god,’ I have no clue what you look like.”

Foggy thinks for a moment before laughing. “Remember that SNL skit about the Chippendale try outs? I’ve got Patrick Swayze’s hair and Chris Farley’s body.”

“…I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Well shit, you missed a golden bit of comedy there, buddy. Uh…I dunno? I’ve got long blonde hair and I’m a sex god, what more do you want from me, Murdock?”

Matt doesn’t answer for a while. His unfocused gaze is pointed towards the ceiling and he’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I could…um…I could touch your face?”

Foggy could have sworn that was an ‘only in the movies’ sort of thing. “Does that really work?”

Matt shrugs, “A bit. It gives me a sort of base to go off of. I’ve been told it’s a bit weird though, so if you don’t want to—“

“Matt, you shouldn’t need to know what I look like to know that I’m a lot weird. Go ahead, my man, feel away.”

He says it confidently, but as soon as Matt’s thumbs tentatively brush against his cheekbones, he gasps. Matt pulls back as if burned.

“Sorry!”  
“Sorry!”

They say it over each other.

“Sorry,” Foggy hurriedly says it again. “It just, uh, it took me by surprise is all.”

“Oh...should I?” Matt lowers his hands.

“No, go on.”

This time Foggy doesn’t flinch. He does, however, curse the fact that his cheeks are flaming red right now. He decides to write it off as alcohol related if Matt brings it up. But he doesn’t have to make any excuses.

Matt’s hands trail over his features, feather light touches making Foggy’s heart pound. He’s never felt so open before. Eyelids closing, he feels Matt trace his nose, his eyebrows, and from his cheeks all the way back to his ears. They’re so close that he can feel Matt’s huff of laughter when his fingertips tickle through Foggy’s sideburns.

When Matt’s thumb touches his bottom lip, Foggy can’t help but open his mouth ever so slightly. The tingling it causes makes him reflexively go to lick his lips. His tongue brushes the pad of Matt’s thumb when he does so.

Eyes flying open, he sees Matt’s slack jawed look, he’s breathing as heavily as Foggy is. There’s a fraction of a second where they lean towards each other, but Matt’s eyebrows jump and he shakes his head slightly as if trying to snap himself out of whatever it is they’re doing.

“I should get to bed,” he says resolutely, standing from Foggy’s mattress. He hesitates for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip and Foggy can’t look away from how soft and pink they are. “Thanks for the date,” he says shyly.

“Anytime,” Foggy replies dumbly, flopping back onto his mattress. He waits until he hears Matt settle into bed before mentally replaying everything that just happened, trying to dwell on the good parts, but mostly focusing on the fact that he probably, somehow, royally messed things up.

 

**-oOo-**

 

They don’t bring up whatever it was that happened while Matt was touching Foggy’s face. Matt is simultaneously glad and disappointed by this fact. He’s glad because he’s been able to keep his potentially friendship-ruining feelings to himself, and disappointed because he knows that it’s all he’s going to be able to think about for the foreseeable future.

Foggy had let him touch his face. Matt now has a fleshed out version of his friend’s face in his mental ‘picture’. He felt round cheeks spattered with a few acne scars, he felt an adorable little nose, and smiling lips. His _lips_. Matt can’t stop thinking about Foggy’s lips and the slight brush of tongue against his thumb. He wants to taste those lips. Hell, he almost had.

And that causes his stomach to twist. Foggy had been leaning in towards him as well. But he’d been drunk and high on whatever sort of endorphins are released when someone intimately touches your face. He hadn’t known what he was doing, and Matt very nearly took advantage of that.

He beats himself up over it for nearly a week. It seems like his mind is incapable of thinking of anything else. He’s so wrapped up in ‘could’ve, should’ve, would’ves’ that he completely misses out on the fact that he’s starting to get sick.

It starts as a scratchiness in his throat, and by the next Wednesday his nose is stuffy and his ears are muffled and he _hates_ it. Being sick throws off his senses and makes him a practically useless zombie. Everything is worse when he’s sick and try as he might, meditation doesn’t help too much with the common cold.

Thursday morning rolls around and Matt feels like he’s got one foot in the grave. He groans as he flops over to fumble on his nightstand to shut off his alarm clock. The groan sounds like he’s been gargling broken glass, and judging by the way his throat feels, it’s a very definite possibility. Foggy immediately deduces that he’s ill.

“Okay, yeah, you’re sick as hell,” he says from somewhere near the foot of Matt’s bed.

Matt mumbles out another stuffy groan and nearly jumps out of his skin when Foggy’s cool hand breaches his blanket den to press against his forehead, “Warn a guy, Foggy.”

“Sorry,” Foggy sounds properly chastised. “Still, you’re not going anywhere. I’ll read you my notes later, you can just stay in b—“

Matt sits up to protest, he can’t miss class, but Foggy just plows on.

“NOPE! No arguments. You’re basically a walking plague. And as your roommate and local amateur CDC agent, I declare that you are not allowed to go out and infect any of your fellow unsuspecting students.”

Matt recognizes Foggy’s tone from every time he’s switched into ‘I’m about to destroy you’ mode during mock debate. He flops back onto the mattress, defeated.  
“Thank you,” Foggy sounds satisfied. “I’ll be back at around 11 after Punjabi. I’ll get some medicine too, you just sleep until then.”

Matt hums in response, already halfway asleep.

\--

Making good on his promise, Foggy returns with some cherry cough syrup that Matt chokes down, hating that, even with cold dulled senses, he can still taste the awful chemicals with perfect clarity. He naps again when Foggy leaves for his afternoon class, and by the time evening rolls around, he’s feeling partially human once more.

When he wakes this time, Foggy’s humming quietly, busying himself near their microwave. 

“He lives!” he calls triumphantly when he notices Matt sitting up again.

“Against my better judgement,” Matt croaks out, “but yes.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re up; I got some chicken soup from the cafeteria in a to-go container. It’s the kind with like, the super thick noodles that I know you love, don’t deny it. I’m basically the best nurse ever.”

Matt grins, “You wearing one of those neatly folded little hats too?”

“No,” Foggy answers as though it’s a tragedy, “I’d totally be able to rock one though. Here you go, at your nine o’clock.”

Turning to his left, Matt grabs the warm bowl of soup as his stomach grumbles. He’s happy he has an appetite at least. “Thanks, Foggy, really.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Foggy’s voice moves over to his side of the dorm. “That’s not even the best part. I may have talked to Tiffany down the hall and she may have lent me the world’s best sick day movie.”

Matt swallows a spoon of soup as Foggy returns to his side of the room, mattress dipping as he sits down next to Matt.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll catch my plague?” Matt asks, giving Foggy an out if he wants. He was honestly a little worried that their closeness on date nights (he’s totally keeping that name, even if it tugs at his heartstrings to do so), would go away after the little incident last week, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Foggy lets out a ‘pfft’ of air. “Please, I’ve got an immune system as strong as an ox. I’ll be fine; besides, I can’t deprive you of this.” There’s a click and a whirr as the movie begins. Matt knows the opening lines of music immediately.

“’The Lion King’?”

“Yeah, man! Tell me this wasn’t the best thing to stay home and watch when you were sick as a kid.”

Matt can’t disagree. He can tell Foggy’s wearing a smug look when he says, “Exactly, now be quiet as I paint you a beautifully descriptive picture of the African savannah.”

Matt smiles and falls silent. He finishes his soup and falls asleep on Foggy’s shoulder before ‘Hakuna Matata’, but he definitely enjoys what he’s awake to hear.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Christmas Eve falls on a Thursday during their second year of law school and, after much cajoling, Foggy has managed to get Matt to come home with him to celebrate the holiday. He’s still beside himself that Matt had mumbled off some excuse the year before, just to stay on campus _alone_ in their dorm. He’ll never forgive himself.

But this year is making up for it. Matt is rosy cheeked and smiling and full to bursting on Foggy’s Mom and Grandma’s cooking, and he looks happy. Genuinely content and happy, and if Foggy didn’t have it bad before, he’s completely hopeless now. His family loves Matt, as he knew they would, but he’s still reeling from his mom pulling him aside to tell him that he had found a very charming and handsome boy and she’s very happy for them. She was actually shocked when Foggy came clean and told her that they weren’t a couple, despite him maybe-sort of-kinda really wanting them to be. He’ll never be able to un-hear his own mother saying: “Franklin Nelson, you get that boy before someone else snatches him up, I’d love to introduce him as my son-in-law.”

But for now, he shoves that aside and continues watching Matt joke with his uncle near the kitchen from his place on the couch. An all too familiar warm, bittersweet feeling settles in his chest as he watches Matt grin and laugh.

He’s so wrapped up in it that it takes him far too long to notice that, as his uncle leaves for more punch, Matt leans against the door frame right beneath a sprig of mistletoe that Foggy’s mother had deviously hung. His eyes widen, because he also notes that his cousin Amy, who is definitely Matt’s type and who has been watching Matt closely all through dinner, is very close to walking through the door from the other side.

What he does, upon reflection, is either genius, or utter stupidity. He can’t honestly decide. Hauling himself off of the couch, he makes his way over to Matt, announcing his presence as he lightly taps his friend’s elbow. 

“Matt, buddy, you’re kind of an open mistletoe target here,” he says, trying not to pay attention to how fast his heart is beating. If he’s lucky, Matt will laugh it off and they can escape back to the living room. 

He’s not that lucky.

“Oh?” Matt asks, head tilting slightly up, lips following. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Yep, right above your noggin, anyone could have swooped in and stole a smooch,” Foggy says, tugging Matt’s sleeve, hoping to pull him away.

“Like you?” Foggy’s mother appears out of _nowhere_ and Foggy will never understand how moms can just do stuff like that. “Very clever, Fogs.”

“What?” Foggy plays dumb. Conscious of the fact that Matt is still just inches away, smiling shyly.

“It’s tradition; give the boy a kiss already!” His mom says with a smirk.

Foggy curses the fact that he has such wonderful and accepting parents who wouldn’t think twice about excusing him from kissing the roommate that they all know he has a huge unrequited crush on. He turns to Matt and feels his face go red.

“Uh…”

Matt’s smile only goes wider, the little shit. “It _is_ tradition, Foggy,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulder.

Foggy deflates a little at that. Yes. Tradition, that’s all it is. He huffs out a laugh that he doesn’t really mean, before bringing a hand up to cup Matt’s cheek. For a split second, Foggy almost believes that Matt’s leaning into it, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on that because he’s too busy _kissing Matt_.

It was only meant to be a quick peck, he swears, but once their lips touch and he can feel how soft and full Matt’s are against his, he can’t really be faulted for lingering a little and making it a bit sweeter than he had intended.

He pulls away to find Matt staring at him, looking completely dazed. It only lasts for a moment before melting away into an absolutely incredulous look. Matt’s looking at him like he hung the moon…and that Foggy had somehow also given him the ability to see it again. Foggy’s stomach does a move that it had only ever previously accomplished while riding a roller coaster.

“Merry Christmas, Foggy,” Matt says, voice awestruck.

Foggy, sensing this could absolutely be a pivotal moment in their friendship/relationship, immediately puts his foot in it.

“You too, buddy!” He says with forced cheer and nonchalance. He even claps Matt on the shoulder for emphasis. “How about another cup of eggnog, huh?” Not waiting for a response and refusing to look at Matt’s face, he turns tail and goes into the kitchen.

 

 **-oOo-**

 

That spring, Foggy starts dating Marci. Matt’s waiting in their dorm on a Thursday evening, waiting on Foggy to return from a late study session so that they can head out to their favorite Chinese place for dinner. When he’s nearly an hour late, Matt stops thinking that Foggy’s forgotten the time and starts to worry.

Calling Foggy yields no results the first two times. Finally, on the third call in 15 minutes, Foggy picks up. There’s loud music and talking in the background and Matt struggles to single out his friend’s voice through the cellphone connection.

“Matt, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I totally forgot date night man,” Foggy’s voice trails off and a vaguely familiar female voice in the background says ‘date night?’ in a slightly scandalized tone.

“Oh shit, yeah, I’ll explain in just a second, it’s not like that,” Foggy must turn around as he says it because his voice is faint. “Seriously though, Matty, I’m super sorry. I’ll uh, I’m gonna be home late. Do you still want me to pick up take-out or anything?”

Matt’s beginning to paint a picture of what’s going on in his head. “Don’t worry about it, Fog. I’ll order in. See you when you get back, alright?”

“Yeah, sounds good, see you.”

Matt hangs up, it feels like there’s a heavy weight on his chest. He doesn’t order dinner.

When Foggy returns, Matt instantly has several suspicions confirmed. Foggy smells a bit like alcohol, and a lot like expensive spicy perfume.

“You are not going to believe this,” Foggy says, nearly breathless as he shuts the door. His pulse is fast and his tone betrays the fact that he’s smiling. “You know Marci Stahl; the really hot, super terrifying girl in our year? She definitely asked me out tonight, dude.”

“Oh?” Matt says with false politeness. His heart feels like it’s dropped to his feet. Foggy must not catch his mood though, because he regales Matt with the entire story that Matt only half hears. He’s too busy trying hard not to feel sorry for something he never could have had in the first place…and even if he ever thought he might, he was clearly wrong, so there’s no use dwelling on it. It nearly works, but the sleepless night that follows proves that it doesn’t.

There aren’t many date nights after Foggy and Marci get together. Even after they ‘break-up but not really,’ because they have a very adult mutual agreement to help…meet each other’s needs; Matt and Foggy rarely get together to hang out any more. When Foggy and Marci call it off for good, they’re already a few weeks into their demanding internships at Landman and Zack, so their free time is mostly spent on case work or sleeping. 

It’s a Thursday night and Matt’s home by himself. He’s been wound tight a lot lately. Between having next to no time to relax, and the constant ethical arguments he has with himself about working at L and Z, it’s not too shocking. Tonight, though, his blood is burning, coursing and churning in his veins as he listens to a little girl cry. When he hears the man responsible hushing her once again, he makes up his mind…

By the end of the night there’s blood on his hands.

He feels guilt like he’s never felt before…but he feels good, too. Sated and with an enormous weight lifted off his shoulders, he decides to ask Foggy tomorrow.

\--

“For better or worse,” Foggy says beside him.

Matt’s heart hammers as he makes a joke out of Foggy’s comment. He’s still a bit shocked that Foggy had agreed to this so easily. Feelings that he’s buried even deeper since Marci came along start to stir back to life. But he can’t help feeling elated, not when they’re finally about to accomplish their dream.

It seems almost too good to last.

\--

It does last, for a while. But not nearly long enough. Deep down, Matt always knew that everything that he’s been doing would come back to hurt him, or at least hurt him more than it already has.

Matt thinks about that night at the bar as Foggy stands in his living room, angry and crying. He thinks about watching movies cuddled on Foggy’s bed, thinks about drunken nights with arms wrapped around waists and shoulders, thinks about a sweet and lingering kiss on Christmas Eve…

He’s ruined all of it.

Foggy’s voice is rising and cracking and Matt couldn’t hold back his own tears if he tried. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants to apologize for, so much that he wants to try and argue weakly for in his defense, but he knows as he listens to Foggy’s pounding heart that it’s too late.

Part of him madly wonders if things like this would be covered under the ‘or worse’ part of the vow Foggy made over drinks and a scribbled on cocktail napkin, even though he definitely doesn’t deserve it, he hopes that it might be.

He can’t ask though, because he’s too busy calling Foggy’s name as Foggy slams the door shut.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Foggy knows a lot of things about Matt Murdock, things both big and small. He knows that, of all the nasty scents in New York, Matt hates the smell that lady bugs have the worst. He knows the last words Matt’s father said to him. He knows that Matt tends to bounce his left leg when he’s stuck on a problem and thinking of solutions…

He knows that his best friend is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

What he doesn’t know is if what they’re doing right now is an actual, honest to god, straight up _date_ …

\--

It started, he supposes, when he had found Matt in the gym. His heart was pounding as he walked in. He wanted it to be a normal conversation, or at least as normal as a – ‘hey, so you’re a vigilante and I’m super pissed about not knowing, but I still really don’t want to read about you being dead in the papers’—conversation could be, especially since he now knew that Matt knows how nervous he is.

The whole thing makes his brain hurt, honestly.

But Matt offered an olive branch, suggesting that they move forward and Foggy took it. Foggy will take anything Matt gives him because, totally righteous anger aside, he felt guilty leaving Matt alone in his apartment that night. He shouldn’t, but he did, and he wants Matt in his life, because…well, he loves the idiot. So, he accepted and they tentatively started to re-learn how to live with each other in the days leading up to Fisk’s take down, and the weeks that followed.

The weeks turned into months, and things became as good as they’ve ever been, if not better. They started to get clients. They got nicer furniture and a working copier.

And on one sunny Thursday morning, Matt even brought bagels.

Foggy, upon reflection, should have immediately known something was up. These weren’t their usual ‘we’ll take these, yes, we know they’re slightly stale leftovers from yesterday, but hey, we’re poor lawyers’ bagels…these were freshly baked rings of pure doughy heaven.

It’s not an exaggeration to say that he and Karen practically mauled Matt when he walked in the door.

“Oh my god, these are amazing,” Karen mumbled around a mouthful of cinnamon flavored bagel. 

Foggy agreed as he pulled Matt into a one armed hug, trying not to spew out any bits of dough as he asked, “So, what’s the occasion? Or are you trying to butter us up?”

“No occasion,” Matt had said with a shrug, an adorable smile on his lips. “I know how you always wax poetic about the bagels they had at L and Z, so I thought I’d bring a treat. Don’t expect them every day, though, at least not until we’re raking in their sort of clientele.”

“That’s never gonna happen,” Karen said, as she took a seat at her desk. “I’d rather it didn’t though.”

“Never say never, we may still get some robot clone baby cases,” Foggy said, glad when Karen laughed at his reference to her opinion of L and Z. “Still, thanks for the food, buddy, you always know how to win me over.”

“Uh, speaking of food,” Matt fidgeted with his shirt. “You want to grab a bite to eat tonight?

“Oh! Sure! It’s about time we treat Karen to dinner for being the world’s best secretary,” he had turned to smile at her, only to find her looking knowingly in Matt’s direction.

“Actually,” she said, smile nothing but mischievous. “I’m um…I’m going out with Jeremy from that accounting firm around the block tonight. You two enjoy your date night though.”

Regret hit Foggy instantly. Why on Earth did he have to be a chatty drunk? Karen would never let him live that down.

Matt had tilted his head towards Foggy, giving him another little grin. “Well, it is a Thursday.”

“You had a set day and everything?” Karen had said with a grin that basically screamed: ‘I now have enough blackmail material to retire comfortably.’

“Hush you,” Foggy said with a glare in her direction, before heading to his office. “But yes, Matt, date night sounds great. You better treat me nice.” He tries to hide the tell-tale signs of a flare of anxiety, but knows that, with Matt’s senses, it’s useless.

\--

Now they are on said dinner date and Foggy is wrapped up in inner turmoil over whether or not it’s a _date_ date…which, just mentally calling it that makes him feel like a 6th grader. They’re at a fancy restaurant though, and Matt has definitely been using his flirting voice at Foggy all night. But still, there’s a tension in the air.

They make their usual ‘over a meal pleasantries,’ Foggy making sure to get Matt’s opinion on this Jeremy fellow that Karen is now seeing. He’s a good guy, it seems, which is nice and Foggy says so. They talk about cases. They talk about the weather…

And yeah, this is awkward.

By the time their check comes, and Matt insists on paying it, Foggy can tell that he’s aching to say something more, but is unsure of how to do so. Foggy didn’t get this far in his law career, or his friendship with Matt, without learning a few things…for example, knowing when to step in and save Matt’s floundering ass.

So he takes the bullet and decides to just wing it like usual and see where things go.

“So, um…if you’re not doing anything,” he tries to keep his heart steady but it’s a lost cause and Matt can probably tell he’s trying and failing anyway. “You wanna come back to my place? Maybe do some Mystery Foggy Theater?”

Matt looks like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

On the walk back, Matt’s hand drifts from Foggy’s elbow to his hand, where he delicately links their hands together.

Of course Foggy’s palm immediately begins to sweat as his pulse skyrockets. Matt looks visibly tense beside him as well, and Foggy _cannot believe_ this is actually happening. He gives Matt’s hand a reassuring little squeeze and is rewarded with a stroke of Matt’s thumb against his own.

By the time they get back to Foggy’s apartment, Foggy is now at least 98% sure that this is a _date_ date. Fate apparently thinks so too, because as he’s surfing through his TV guide, he sees that ‘The Princess Bride’ is playing. Talk about full circle.

“Man, you won’t believe what’s on!” He declares, sitting on his usual spot on the couch. It’s with a twinge of pleasure/nerves that he notices that Matt has sat down as close as he would have back in law school.

“What?” Matt says with his charming smile.

“’The Princess Bride.’”

Matt looks pleasantly surprised. “Wow…that’s a throwback. That was the first movie we watched together, right?”

“Yep! From the very first date night to…” _Whatever this is_ his brain supplies. To hell with it. Foggy’s not sitting in awkward limbo, he’s an attorney, and he can be blunt when he needs to. Taking a deep breath he blurts out, “Matt, is this a date? Like a for real date? Not a ‘just bros being bros’ or whatever it is we’ve been doing? Because it feels sort of like a date, buddy.”

Smooth.

Matt’s mouth falls open into the same stunned little ‘o’ shape it did when Foggy had first told him he was hot within ten seconds of meeting him. He has also managed to look simultaneously terrified and relieved.

“I—yes. If-if you want it to be, I mean.”

Foggy lets out a truly unattractive snort and Matt must be able to hear the hidden tones of fondness and happiness in it because he beams at Foggy. And well, if Matt can grin at a sound like that, then Foggy’s pretty sure that this might just work out. The fact that his heart is doing flip-flops might also be the culprit.

“I absolutely want it to be.”

Matt is apparently thankful beyond words, because he lets out an exhale that’s mostly pleased laughter before kissing Foggy square on the lips.

Radar senses definitely aren’t all bad, Foggy decides.

Despite reliving their Christmas kiss over and over ad nauseam in his head, it could never compare to this. Matt’s all eager lips and mostly teeth because he can’t seem to stop smiling and neither can Foggy. It’s ridiculous, they’re giggly and somewhere in the background Inigo Montoya is vowing revenge, but Foggy wouldn’t trade this for the world, not when he has his own messed up version of the Dread Pirate Roberts kissing him within an inch of his life.

Especially now that Matt’s climbing onto his lap and they’re still kissing and this is all happening very quickly…

“Easy there, Matt,” Foggy manages to mumble out between kisses. “Don’t you think we ought to—“

“Waited long enough,” Matt answers against the skin of his neck. “Since second semester…”

“Second--?” Foggy’s voice breaks around the second syllable as Matt sucks at the tender spot beneath his ear. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

“Didn’t think you felt the same.”

Foggy clucks indignantly. “I called you a handsome wounded duck, Matt. Like, seconds after we met…how did you not know? Surely something about me had to clue you in, I mean…you can smell when I’m hungry or whatever, and this was pretty hard to hide.”

Matt pulls back, looking a bit sheepish. “I always wrote it off as me projecting, I didn’t think that—“

Foggy knows the self-flagellating look slowly making its way onto Matt’s face. He’s thrilled that he can now kiss it away like he’s dreamed of doing for so long. 

“Alright, I get it…let’s not go down that road, okay?” He says gently against Matt’s lips. “Let’s just agree we’re both idiots and get on with it.”

Matt grins again, returning the kiss. “Agreed, counselor,” he says, grinding down against Foggy’s hips.

Foggy groans, and for the rest of the night, instead of revisiting old regrets, Foggy gets to live out old fantasies.

It’s pretty damn great.

\--

Later on, they lay in bed totally spent, with Matt pressed up against Foggy’s chest, his fingers trailing up and down his torso. It’s the best thing in the world.

Matt eventually tilts his head to mouth at Foggy’s collar bone. “Hi,” he says slowly, voice lazy and content.

“Hi yourself,” Foggy answers with a smile, stomach twitching as Matt hits a ticklish spot. His fingers immediately stroke more delicately.

“You’ve got goosebumps,” he says near Foggy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I’m ticklish…”Foggy says peevishly, still squirming from Matt’s touch. It’s different now, though, and it takes Foggy a moment to realize that it’s the kind of focused touch that Matt usually saves for reading. “Can you read them?”

“Hmm?”

“My goosebumps, any secret fleshy braille words? I really hope the lyrics for ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ are there somewhere.”

Matt snorts a laugh, but his hand trails lower, stopping beneath some stretchmarks near Foggy’s hip. “Ah, here’s something. ‘Property of M. Murdock.’”

“Oh my god, you’re terrible. I never signed up for this level of cheesiness, I’m calling it off,” he says, not meaning a damn word of it.

Matt, of course, knows this but, stubborn jackass that he is, he just wraps around Foggy like an octopus. “Get used to it buddy, I’ve been bottling this up for years, now you get all the disgusting sappiness that I secretly hide.”

“One, I fucking _knew_ it, you huge dork. Two, that sounds like a challenge, I will out sap you any day, Murdock.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, my darling sweet, my sugar lumpkin, apple of my eye, fruit of my loom…”

Matt shuts him up with a kiss.

Foggy eagerly shuts up.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Thursdays remain date nights…at least for a while. For a time, Matt would stay in. But on one particularly bad night, one that Matt had spent sitting tense and alert, Foggy had turned towards him, grabbing his hand.

“Don’t stay on my account,” his voice was tight, but he meant it.

Matt had changed into his gear and gave Foggy a lingering kiss before leaving through the roof door.

Matt is more careful now. He has many more reasons to be. He now knows how Foggy feels hot around his body, he knows how Foggy sounds when he comes apart, crying out Matt’s name; he knows what it’s like to wake up to Foggy’s arms wrapped around him, his lips gently tracing scars both old and new before they leave bed to start the day. He’s not going to let some criminal with a chip on their shoulder rob him of this.

Tonight was a Thursday that the streets called to him. He lands on the fire escape near his bedroom, opening the window and pushing aside the blackout curtains he’d bought to keep the light out for Foggy to sleep-- (“No use paying for two apartments,” Matt had said casually one night. “My rent’s cheaper anyway and we could always—“ Foggy’s kiss and the blowjob that followed had answered Matt’s unasked question.)—he quietly enters the room, letting Foggy’s even breath and heart beat calm him down from his adrenaline high.

He makes his way to bed as silently as possible after removing his gear, knowing that Foggy will wake up to sleepily give him a welcome home kiss. It’s still all a bit unbelievable that any of this has happened, because, especially on nights like this, Matt still thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

Sure enough, as soon as he hits the mattress, Foggy stirs. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Matt answers, stilling Foggy before he can sit up to do a body check. “I promise, just a few bumps…I’m not even bleeding tonight, go back to sleep.”

Foggy hums, his heart still beating fast from Matt mentioning bleeding so dismissively. But he pulls Matt in for a kiss even so. “Good. Love you.”

Matt smiles in the darkness, curling against Foggy beneath the blankets, his hands smoothing down the soft curves of Foggy’s side. His heart is slowing down as sleep starts to take him once again. “Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> A shout out to my wonderful beta [smallscreensidekick](http://archiveofourown.org/users/smallscreensidekick/pseuds/smallscreensidekick). Thank you so much for reading over this, especially during the height of exam season.


End file.
